Even the Strong
by Shadow Mage Evelyn
Summary: Even the strong are allowed to be weak sometimes. ONESHOT. Post movie. ABSOLUTELY NO ELRICEST.


HAHA! I bet you all thought that I was dead, didn't you!! Well, I'm not. Not totally anyway.

_Indiana Elric?_ chapter 19 is on its way, but not soon. I unfortunately did the one thing I was so set on NOT doing, which is…I wrote myself into a corner. Encouragement, advice, and even ideas are welcome at this point. My email's on my profile page. Please help me!!

I was inspired to write this after reading a doujinshi by Daen called _Neue Welt._ There's this scene were Ed has a breakdown, and I had to expand on it a little bit.

THIS IS NOT ELRICEST!! Elricest is an abomination to the planet. I don't care what your opinions, "evidence", or ideas are. It's wrong, it's wrong, it's wrong. Did I mention that it's wrong? This fic is just two brothers supporting each other. So keep your Elricest-y thoughts away from it.

**EVEN THE STRONG**

Brother thinks that I don't know.

How could I not? We share the same room, our beds are only four feet apart, and I'm a light sleeper.

I know that Brother cries himself to sleep every night, but for the sake of his pride, I pretend that I don't know a thing.

It's hard to listen to that and force myself not to get up and try to reassure him that everything is going to be okay, but I do it anyway. I'm the little brother. I'm not supposed to do any reassuring because that's his job. I'm not supposed to be the strong one either, and sometimes I'm pretty sure that I'm not, but at night, when there is nothing for him to do but lay there and think about all the people and the memories we left behind, I've quickly learned that sometimes the strongest person you know can have the world's most shattered heart.

He's never loud when he does it. He keeps it quiet partly because he thinks I'm asleep, but partly because he's ashamed at his own apparent weakness. He'll wait for an hour or two, just to make sure I'm sleeping, and then it begins. All of the shields and defenses he carefully constructs during the day come down. It's a slow process; it begins with a change in his breathing pattern which becomes a little more ragged and harsh with every passing minute until finally…a whimper. Then another. Quiet, tiny sounds that he tries to swallow and kill in his belly but can't. The clench of his jaw is almost painfully audible as he tries to keep everything back. Eventually, the levee breaks and I hear a whisper of a sob break loose. Only for a minute, though, because then he shifts on the mattress so that he can bury his face in the pillows and hide the rest. They're just a few muffled, breathy expressions of a pain that cuts so deep that it has no fathomable depth.

After awhile, he can't breathe, so he turns his face out of the pillow. He sniffles quietly, trying to be unobtrusive about it so that if I happen to wake up slightly, I might in my half-aware state mistake it for allergies or a cold or something like that and just go back to sleep. He'll fake sleep if I get up to use the washroom, and I pretend that nothing is out of the ordinary, stumbling a little out of the room, just for show, and grunting loud enough for him to hear when I flip on the light, just so that he doesn't suspect. I've even become an expert at keeping my breathing rhythm steady so that when he double-checks to make sure I'm asleep, no hint of wakefulness can be detected. He'll lay there for a long time, sniffling and whispering sobs that only I and the moonlight on the floor can hear.

My heart cries, too. I miss everyone. I miss Winry and Granny. I miss General Mustang and the others. I miss everyone of whom I have a memory, and everything I have left behind. I have my weak moments, too, but it's different somehow. After my moment has passed, I can smile again almost immediately.

There is no smile in Brother's eyes anymore.

I roll over. His breath hitches in his throat. Have I found him out?? he wonders frantically. Have I guessed?? No, Brother. I'm just getting more comfortable, but I'm still asleep. At least, that's what you tell yourself. I keep my face carefully plastered in an expression of sleep, which is difficult when facing him. I want to crack an eyelid just to check and make sure he's okay, but I don't dare. I don't want to hurt his pride. He thinks he will carry his dirty little secret to his grave, but I'll carry both his and mine to my grave. It hurts to watch Brother carry on his happy-go-lucky façade knowing the truth. But for the sake of his pride, I can't say a word.

In a few minutes, he's crying again so softly I can barely hear him. Don't say a word, don't make a sound, don't move a muscle. This mantra revolves through my head as his cries get a little louder, just barely audible. It's breaking my heart, listening to this. There's so much exhaustion evident in his cries, as if he's too tired to expend the effort to do even this task.

It hits me suddenly, the epiphany I've never realized until just this moment.

Brother's grieving.

Suddenly all of the tears make sense. He's not just shedding tears for everyone we left behind; he's crying because for fours years of his life he wouldn't let himself. He had forced himself to forget all of the pain of Dad walking out on us and Mom dying. He had forced himself not to take a good look at what had happened that night we'd failed to bring Mom back. All of these years he's never let himself mourn those losses. I've never really thought about that before, but it's all so clear to me now. Brother had always made sure that I had as much of a childhood as I could without a body, but I see now that even that had a price. Brother never had a childhood. He'd been forced to grow up fast so that he could look after me. I don't feel guilty for that; Brother never treated me like a burden. I was his best friend, his confidant, and he was mine. We were a team, and we still are. If I start thinking that I was a burden to him, I would not only ruin our bond, but I would be even more of a burden to him, and it's clear to me from his tears that Brother has more burdens now than he can carry.

Why do you want to carry this burden alone, too, Brother? Wasn't that four year old load enough for you?

His breath catches shamefully as I sit up, and he tries to pretend he's sleeping. This time, I don't play the game like I'm supposed to. Some things are more important that pride. I get up and make my way over to his bedside, ignoring the cold of the wood as I kneel down to his face level.

You aren't alone in this world, Brother, because I'm here, too. I'm the only person who will understand. Let me carry this one, too. It's too hard to let you do this alone anymore.

He opens his eyes when I place my hand on his shoulder, and the look of guilt and shame in his eyes, that looks that says _I don't want you to see me like this_ causes a lump to form in my throat. I don't say a word, but just let my own eyes do all the talking.

Please, Brother. You don't have to hide it from me any longer. I already know.

It's not even a minute later when he presses his forehead against my shoulder and starts to cry aloud. There is relief in his voice; I can hear it. I don't say a word as he cries; I just kneel there beside him and hold his hand, a silent witness to his grief. I shed my own tears with him.

Its okay, Brother. You don't have to be strong right now. Someday, I know you'll find it in you to smile again.

His hand grips mine in fear and desperation as he continues to weep. _Please don't hate me_. I squeeze his hand back. I could never hate you, Brother. Never.

Even the strong are allowed to be weak sometimes.


End file.
